


Cinnamon, Cloves, and a Dash of Mistletoe

by LogosMinusPity



Series: FangRai Forever [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series
Genre: Community: fangrai-forever, F/F, Mistletoe, Prompt Fill, difference in culture, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:33:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogosMinusPity/pseuds/LogosMinusPity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fangrai Forever Prompt 225: Cocoon and Gran Pulse both have conflicting uses and background origins for mistletoe, leading to awkward explanations and (most definitely) kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinnamon, Cloves, and a Dash of Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zerrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrat/gifts).



> This is a rather new foray for my writing attempts, as I typically am one to stay away from holiday-based prompts, but I thought I'd give this one a shot for Z. If there's anything I learned from the research I did for writing this one, it's that holiday traditions are REALLY WEIRD. The way that the meaning or symbolism of something can completely change in a few centuries is actually pretty impressive. But I digress.
> 
> I hope you read and enjoy, and, as per usual, any feedback is always appreciated! 
> 
> Cheers and happy holiday seasons to all you!

Fang was normally not one to stick to the wall at a party, particularly when it was a gathering of only close friends.  This wasn’t one of Lebreau’s big bashers at the bar, filled to the brim with whomever had wandered in from the street.  Even so, Fang contented herself with leaning her back against the flat plane of Serah and Snow’s living room wall, watching the proceedings while Vanille took her leave to find the bathroom.

The living room was the very picture of warm cheer and camaraderie.  It was abuzz with the movement of bodies and happy conversations, and filled with the smell of savory finger foods and sweet liquors.

Members of NORA and the band of former l’Cie were moving throughout the room, busying themselves with food, drink, and easy conversation, every face bright and filled with warmth at the occasion for the get together.

“Christmas”.  What a quaint word for such a holiday.

But then again, “quaint” was about the only way Fang could internally describe what the holiday she had known over five-hundred years earlier had morphed into.

On Gran Pulse, during Fang’s time, their celebrations had been far less tame.  More...primal.  They had called it the Feast of the Beast, or just the Feast.  It was a week-long festival, beginning with the solstice and ending seven days later in one raucous, nearly uncontrollable celebration of death, life, and no-doubt what most high-bred and uptight Cocoonians would deem to be utter debauchery.

The first night, the solstice, was always the “Longest Night”, the evening when all the warriors and soldiers in town would hold a silent vigil, staying up through the night to watch over the village through the longest and darkest night of the year. 

Then began the week-long festival. 

The last night in particular was something of its own.  After the animal sacrifices, the burning effigies, the symbolic salutes and gruesome reminders of death earlier in the solstice, the festival ended on the highest note of life.  It was one last, all-night celebration, almost the opposite of how the solemn week started on the Longest Night.  Instead, it was a wild feast, the very embodiment of human carnality.  The solstice lights that had been kept burning all week were raised to massive bonfires, lightning up the entire village.  Massive trays of roasted meats, marinated root vegetables, and sweetened honey desserts were passed around until your stomach could fit no more, never mind that the dishes seemed unending.  There was singing; there was dancing.  And then there was the _ushgui_. 

A clear liquor, fermented from the soft white petals of the Ice Tear flowers, it burned pleasantly all the way down with a sweet aftertaste, and was only served on the Night of the Feast.

It was also supposed to be an aphrodisiac.

That, of course, was debatable, but regardless, Feast night always promised to be one of multiple desires, and of seeing more than a fair share of couples walk away from the bonfires hand in hand, giddy, secretive smiles decorating their faces.

Fang ran a thumb over the bottom curve of the wine glass she was nursing.

The mulled wine, though delicious in its own right, was hardly in the same category as the _ushgui_.

 _Though_ , Fang reminded herself as her eyes drifted across the room and over to Lightning, _there’s really no need of_ ushgui _for me this time around._

Even with all of the bustle of guests and noise of chatter and music, Fang had no problem focusing her attention on the soldier across the room.

Granted, she hardly looked the part of a soldier at the given moment.  She had donned no uniform, no set of beaten battle armor, and her gunblade wasn’t even present, no different than Fang’s lance.  Rather, Lightning was wearing a pair of casual but oh-so-wonderfully fitted jeans, complete with a sleeveless and silky black top.

“Not festive” was how Fang had overheard the younger Farron chiding her older sister earlier, and perhaps that was true, but Fang thought the sleek and elegantly simplistic look fit Lightning perfectly.  Nevermind about appropriate festive coloring and such.

Lightning looked _good_ , and that was something Fang could readily appreciate.

As if her gaze had a physical effect, Lightning stiffened, pausing in her conversation with Serah to look across the room, directly at Fang.  The crystal blue gaze was questioning at first, with the barest hint of a raised eyebrow.

Fang smiled lazily back, and felt a languid tendril of heat that had nothing to do with the wine uncurl in her stomach. 

And that seemed to have a stronger effect than any prior staring.  Lightning’s lips tilted upward, pressed together in a special and secretive smile reserved solely for Fang.  Even as she was dragged back to her conversation with Serah, it was impossible for Fang to miss the way Lightning’s eyes visibly ran up and down Fang’s figure, as strong as any physical touch.

Which made it that much harder for Fang to keep the simple smile on her face from morphing into a an outright grin, and an unexpected blush from rising into her cheeks.

She and Lightning had only just begun dating in the weeks prior, though Fang wasn’t even sure “dating” was the right word.  After what had felt like a small eternity of flirting and dancing around each other as housemates, their friendship had finally and fully dissolved and given way to something born of both very non-platonic desire and romance.  Even now, Fang felt her cheeks begin to heat up; she thought of how on that evening a bare two weeks earlier she and Lightning had kissed for the first time, finally admitting what feelings they had for one another, their given situation as housemates be damned.

Thus far, though, the only issue had been in whose bed they would be sleeping on any given night.

Yet for the moment, they were both unofficial and covert.  As far as anyone else in the room knew, she and Lightning were still nothing more than simple housemates.  It had been on Lightning’s request that Fang had held back from telling Vanille.  Lightning had asked for time, time to “figure us out more”, before they both had family and friends jumping all over their newfound relationship; or at least time enough to handle the hectic mayday of the holidays before having to sit down and talk with both of their all too overly excitable sisters.

Not that Fang particularly cared about the undisclosed public status of...well...whatever they were.  She was more than happy to take her time keeping Lightning to herself, while Lightning did the same with her.  After all, they had only just become _more_ than friends.  There would be time enough later for friends and family alike to make a fuss over them.  In the meantime, why not enjoy the simple pleasures of each other?  No need to handle anything beyond that.

Still, it was just the smallest of aggravations to be unable to cross the room, throw an arm possessively around her woman and just give her a quick peck, be it on the cheek or on the lips.  Of course, there would be time enough for that and plenty else once they returned to the privacy of their own house later in the night.

Yet for the given moment, Fang had to content herself remaining as somewhat of a wallflower at the party.  She took another sip of the mulled wine.  It was rich with spices and flavor, and though it was no _ushgui_ , she thought given the current festivities, it was a more than fitting match.

It might not be the same as Feast, but this gathering of friends and family alike brought a genuine smile to Fang’s face.  She had never once imagined after Oerba that she’d be able to feel like this again, that she would safe, that she would feel at home.

It was a nice thing to feel.

Fang turned back toward Lightning, who, while no longer caught in conversation, had her gaze fixed elsewhere, her lips twisted upward unexpectedly.

Following her gaze, Fang saw that she was looking at her sister still, now Snow’s arms and giggling.

Snow and Serah both had happy, silly grins on their faces, and were both leaning in toward one another, eyes beginning to flutter closed in expectation of the kiss they were clearly about to share.

Odd that Lightning had that funny half-smirk about her, considering the scene.

_Just what…?_

Fang’s blood froze in her veins at what she saw, unbeknownst to the two young lovers.  She opened her mouth to call out, but action was needed first.  She had to do something, and now.

Fang dove across the hors d’œuvres table, expertly snatching up the cheese knife, paltry though it was, and sending food and punch crashing every which way.  It was a necessary sacrifice, and though her current weapon of choice would no doubt be up to the task at hand, she was mentally berating herself for giving in and not bringing her lance with her as had been requested.

“Snow!  Serah!  Don’t!”

Snow and Serah had one second to look up before their lips were about to touch, eyes now wide with alarm, and then Fang plowed into them, sacrificing her body to physically get them out of the way—and considering Snow’s size, that was a particularly impressive feat on Fang’s part.

As she righted herself and turned back around, Fang could hear the sounds of mass hysteria beginning, but she had one last thing to do.

In a bare moment, she had jumped upward brandishing her cheese knife.  It was no spear, but it was good enough.  Fang slammed back to the ground, driving the small blade as deep as it would go into the carpeted floor, the offending leafy branch that had been hanging from the ceiling now firmly pinned beneath the knife.

She stood upright finally, brushing her hands off, pleased with a job well done given the circumstances.  Fang turned around, now prepared to check on the well-being of the rest of the party goers, but also to give Lightning a well deserved lecture about what was and was not appropriate to do in getting back at Snow.

Yet the room had instead gone utterly and completely silent, with only the now comical loop of festive music still playing in the background.

But with everyone’s wide-eyed attention centered on Fang, and with hardly any of the fanfare or panic that she would have expected given the revelations, Fang felt herself begin to sweat with the uncomfortable and growing thought that maybe, just maybe, she had misjudged the situation.

“What’s going on every...one…” Vanille’s voice died off as she reentered the room. 

Her eyes took in a wide survey, following the trail of overturned food and tables that Fang had left in her wake, to where Snow and Serah were still frozen and half-sprawled on the floor, to Fang, and then back to the floor.

“Ah!  Mistletoe!” yelled Vanille, pointing at the offending plant that was still firmly stabbed into the carpet.

And with that, the room erupted into chaos.

* * *

For the next ten minutes, while Snow put Team NORA to furious work cleaning up the wreckage of snacks and punch, Fang and Vanille remained firmly seated on the couch, engaged in discussion with an equally confused Sazh, Serah, and Lightning over just what mistletoe was for...just how holidays were celebrated so very differently between modern times and half a millennia earlier.

There had been no harm and no foul in the simple, if rather dramatic, misunderstanding on both sides.  Yet even so, it still took a fair bit of bravado on Fang’s part to force a casual smile as she finally got up from the couch, explanations settled and her sincere apology easily accepted and waved into the growing past.  Despite the more than understanding response and even interest in Gran Pulse history, Fang was still more than appropriately embarrassed about the “misunderstanding”.  And she was still scratching her head in bemusement even as Gadot gave her a playful and friendly elbow to the side.

The fact that Snow and Serah were actually supposed to _kiss_ under such a plant absolutely baffled Fang.  Mistletoe was a parasitic plant, a cowardly, conniving species of flora that sucked the life blood from the strongest, most prized trees in the wood.  And even more so, it was a poison, and a curse.

During the festival week back in Oerba, mistletoe was carefully cultivated for the series of animal sacrifices near the beginning of the week.  The extracted poison was used as a drug in the sacrificial offerings, and the mistletoe leaves and twigs were then burned in a mistletoe effigy of a human, symbolic of the poison of the Viper over which the Beast was to conquer—the very definition of a curse.

How it was that somewhere in the mess of five hundred lost years mistletoe had instead been converted from a symbol of evil to one of...of…

She didn’t even have words to describe how strange it was.

Fang glanced back at the same spot where Snow and Serah had been about to kiss earlier, the mistletoe now removed to who knows where.

Her fingers twitched reflexively, half forming a symbol to Lady Luck before she caught herself.

But then she finished the motion. Nevermind if it was deemed superstitious.  As far as Oerba Yun Fang was concerned, she owed a whole lot more in life to Luck than to pure coincidental chance, and she would be damned if anyone was going to change her mindset.

A touch on her wrist nearly made her jump, and she mentally chided herself when she turned around to face Lightning.

“Come on,” Lightning urged quietly, leading them into the silent and still kitchen.  Only once the door had firmly closed behind them did Lightning let Fang go, turning around with an expression that was remarkably unreadable, even by normal standards.

“Look,” Fang began, stumbling over her words a bit. “I’m really sorry about...about every—”

She stopped as soon as Lightning pressed a finger against her lips to garner her silence.

“It’s okay, Fang.  It was a misunderstanding is all.”

Still, Fang felt her cheeks inadvertently warm recalling the disastrous consequences of her misunderstanding, consequences that had only just been cleaned up.

“Okay.  Serah’s making sure to take down the mistletoe.  You don’t need to worry.  Fang…”

Lightning stepped in a bit closer, letting her hands hover lightly over the snug fit of Fang’s jeans on her hips.

The remnant anxiety finally started to leak away from Fang’s mind, and her thoughts instead turned again toward just how pretty she thought Lightning looked tonight.  Bare and muscled arms, rosy cheeks, tousled hair, and smelling faintly of peppermint.

“It’s alright, I just got taken off guard.  Really, mistletoe isn’t any bother.  I don’t even care anymore.  Serah can keep it up,” reassured Fang, her gaze flickering downwards toward Lightning’s mouth as the shorter woman began to slowly tilt upward and in. 

Was that shimmer from lip gloss?  It looked good on her, and Fang wondered how it would taste, too.

“..mm…” Lightning made a wordless sound of both encouragement and acceptance.

Fang’s eyes started to close, and she leaned in a bit, glad she could finally get the first of hopefully many kisses for the night.  Lightning’s lips were almost on hers...

“...good, because we’re under mistletoe right now.”

Fang’s entire body went rigid with tension before she could even think to stop it.

Her head immediately craned back, looking upward for the cursed bit of flora, but all she caught was a glimpse of innocent and undecorated ceiling before she was dragged back down toward an all too smug and amused Lightning.

“You sneaky, no good—”

Then her words were drowned out when she was quickly, and quite thoroughly, kissed.

Lightning pulled back just enough to speak, “Next year I’ll make sure that there’s no mistletoe, okay?”

Fang grumbled some response under her breath, but it was half-hearted at best.  Her attention was fixed quite firmly elsewhere as she claimed Lightning’s lips back with her own.  She tasted better than any amount of _ushgui_ , and no stupid plant was going to keep her from that.

 _Granted_ , she thought to herself as she and Lightning finally left the kitchen to return to the party, both still throwing furtive and heated glances at one another, _I think everyone will be fine if we miss out on the mistletoe decorations from now on._


End file.
